Sleep Now
by Saya-Sama
Summary: In which Gilbert tries to get Arthur to take a break before the Battle of Waterloo. Slight PrUK


**For Starshards on LJ who wanted Prussia/England on the night before or after the Battle of Waterloo. The night after seemed like it'd be way too depressing, so I went with the night before. This sort of came out of nowhere, I was stressing over not knowing what to do for it one minute, and the next...it was done. The glories of Wellness class.**

France is positively in love with that damned midget, and just the, the undignified manner with which he heeds that man's every word (even though France is _supposed _to be done with him) is enough to drive England up a wall. Honestly, England isn't even that fanatical about his monarchs. And where does France get off, thinking he can make an empire? That wine-bastard isn't cut out for it.

But if there is one thing that France can do it's spread false intelligence, and as for Napoleon, he truly knows the art of war. It's these qualities that led the English troops away from their supply chain, away from their position at the crossroads of Quatre Bras, and to the low ridge of Mont. St. Jean near Waterloo in a hurry. Dread knots in his stomach as he contemplates the coming battle. What's left of the Prussian army after the Battle of Ligny is on its way, along with the IV corps which were still fresh for battle, so combined the two armies had a chance, but England was never so optimistic.

In any case, he couldn't be sure of his next course of action until Prussia's messenger arrived with their latest report—

"So that pervert managed to mess with your head pretty badly at Quatre Bras, huh?"

Arthur felt an angry twitch coming on.

"Yeah, well what's your excuse for Ligny?" He shoots back; it wasn't as though he was the only one who'd failed. Of course, secretly he knows that if his armies has finished up at Quatre Bras sooner, they could've went to Ligny to back up the Prussians, and perhaps the battle would've been over already. Still, England is far too proud to admit to that and it's not as though Prussia's a push-over who needs his help, in most cases.

Gilbert waltzes into the Englishman's temporary quarters as though he has every right to, and drops a letter on his cluttered desk. He looks far too laid back and confident for Arthur's taste, did he not know the feeling of nervousness or tension? Arthur can feel an ulcer forming over this battle, this extremely important and decisive battle, and what is the Prussian doing?

Well, currently he is making himself at home on Arthur's cot, and he'd better take off those muddy boots before he even thinks of pulling his feet onto the bed! (Granted Arthur had no intentions of using it himself, but it was the principle of the matter.) After giving the other country a warning glare he turned back to his work to read the report from Blücher; he needed to read this now so that when he was consulted by Wellington later he could give an informed opinion, a strategy that might work.

For a long while the only sound in the tent is the scratching of Arthur's pen as he thinks of strategies to be used in the upcoming battle and the bustling of soldiers outside as they help any late arrivals prepare.

But of course silence never did last long in Gilbert's presence.

"You're way too tense, ya know. Seriously, how're you planning to win if you're half-asleep on the battlefield? Get a bit of shut-eye, would you?" As if to emphasize his point, Gilbert lets out a great yawn and stretches over the cot. (He sees the way Arthur is eying his boots though and is careful to keep them off of the bed sheets.)

"How the hell can you be so calm?" Arthur shouts in a mixture of anger and frayed nerves. "You seem to be relaxed enough for the both of us!" Really, if wars could be won on egoism alone, then Prussia would rule the world.

Well, that's a dreadful thought.

Gilbert props himself up on his elbows so that he may meet the other's scathing glare, one eyebrow raised and a grin threatening to come onto his face.

"Well, clearly that's because I'm so-"

"And if you say it's because you're awesome, I will throw my boot at you."

Prussia shut his mouth at this, making a put-out expression. That expression doesn't last long though as soon the grin that had been about to break free really does.

"I am awesome, but that's beside the point." Gilbert stands back up and walks to Arthur's side, sighing ruefully as he leaves the relative comfort of the mattress (which really isn't so comfortable at all, but he's been on a horse for most of the day so anything that isn't a moving animal seems pretty good to him right now). Leaning over the smaller man's shoulder he uses his arms to support him on the table, effectively trapping Arthur between the two limbs.

"Look at these plans, you've hardly been at it a half an hour and already you've got half the field planned out. Think about your troops, ready to fight valiantly and give their lives if the occasion calls for it in order to help protect Europe from a little French bastard on a while horse. And of course, my army is just so awesome you can't possibly ignore it. Think of all that, look at me, and try to tell me that the odds aren't in our favor."

"The odds clearly are _not_-"

"I said think first, ya damned pessimist," Gilbert insists as he brings a hand up to Arthur's face and makes him look back down at the charts and diagrams he's been poring over for the past thirty or so minutes. With a disgruntled huff, Arthur does as told and considers, really considers his plans and his troops and his allies. They're strong, definitely strong, even if both of their armies just came out of other battles, he knows they are still strong. They are certainly dedicated, to follow hastily made orders and go through battle after battle like this. And of course, his reliable ally who really can't be ignored (refuses to be ignored, is more like it), is going to be fighting beside him and his army.

He has to admit, if only to himself, that the thought really does inspire a bit of hope in him.

"…This is going to be the closest-run thing you'll ever see in your life," he says finally, craning his neck back to look at the Prussian man behind him. His tone is serious, but the quirk of his lips indicates a victory for Prussia.

"Right. It'll be close, but we'll win. Because I'm-"

"I really will hit you with my boot. And it's filthy, I'll have you know."

"Well as long as you know I am," Gilbert says as he moves his hands from the table to the back of Arthur's chair and tips it backward until it is precariously balanced on its back legs.

"He-hey! Put down my chair this instant!" He demands, flailing just a bit in his seat as he tries to find something to hold onto.

"Right, so now that we're all sure we're going to win, it's time for a break. Come to bed with me."

"Yo-you depraved—such a thing _now_ of all times-!"

"Hah, you're the depraved one, thinkin' so dirty." Even as he says this, Gilbert is righting Arthur's chair, lifting him out of it, and bringing him to his cot where he unceremoniously dumps the flustered man. With an over-the-top mockingly motherly expression, the older man starts to remove the other's shoes and make him lay back on the cot.

"I don't need you to put me to bed, you arse! Now let me up this instant, I have work to do! And don't you have somewhere you need to _be_-" Arthur's rant is cut off by a rather sloppy kiss, and when Gilbert pulls away and collapses on top of him with a weary sigh, he realizes that all this time the other has been just as tired as he is.

'_It must be exhausting, showing such bravado all day,'_ he thinks, absent-mindedly petting down the Prussian's unruly hair. It feels as though the man is leaning into his touch.

"Alright," he gives up the idea of working for the time being in favor of running his fingers through the other's short strands of hair, "we'll sleep for now."

**Notes:  
1. The Midget is question is clearly Napoleon. Apparently though he was of average height, but British propaganda depicted him as really small, and the image persisted. British folk also seemed to think he was the bogeyman.  
2. Napoleon messed with the British via false intelligence. They ended up thinking that the French were going to attempt to surround the Coalition troops, and didn't realize their true intentions until the 15th. The British troops ended up quickly trying to make it to the crossroads of Qautre Bras, and actually got there in time to win that battle.  
Meanwhile, Prussian troops were over at Ligny, getting overwhelmed by the French because Napoleon thought that they were the bigger threat. French troops broke up the Prussians and only the flanks escaped. The Prussian IV Corps were not at Ligny, and joined the flanks to meet up with the British troops. The British had to give up the their position at Quatre Bras after this loss because it was sort of pointless and troublesome to have. Both armies fell back to the lower ridge near Waterloo.  
3. The Duke of Wellington and Gebhard Leberecht von Blücher were the two in control during the Battle of Waterloo. They were in constant correspondence during the days before the the battle.  
4. Wellington called the battle "the nearest-run thing you ever saw in your life." I like taking quotes from Brits and making Arthur say them.**

Um, I haven't a clue whether or not the Coalition armies were feeling positive about the battle or not. They certainly weren't taking naps though. 


End file.
